


Whipped with Whips

by KaibaSlaveGirl34



Series: Johnny Depp Oneshots/Stories [6]
Category: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Character, F/M, Inspired by Fanfiction, One Word Prompt Meme, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Whipping, Whips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaibaSlaveGirl34/pseuds/KaibaSlaveGirl34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“For your information, little girl, whipped cream isn’t whipped cream at all unless it’s been whipped with whips. Everyone knows that.”<br/>—Willy Wonka to Veruca Salt, <b>Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Whipped with Whips

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s a new CatCF oneshot, which I had been mulling over for about a few months. It’s based on a quote from the 2005 film version of “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”.
> 
> “For your information, little girl, whipped cream isn’t whipped cream at all unless it’s been whipped with whips. Everyone knows that.”  
> —Willy Wonka to Veruca Salt, **Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)**
> 
> Plus, I also read this really neat oneshot called Idle Hands by IDOL HANDS on fanfiction.net. It was really inspiring, and a great read in itself as well. I imagined Veruca in Charlie’s shoes as I read it... and the part about those whips was really something, too. So as a result, this is what I cooked up.
> 
> Disclaimer: The geniuses at Warner Bros. Studios and Tim Burton own the 2005 film. Genius Roald Dahl owns Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The lyrics to Running From this Nightmare by Tuesday Knight belong to their respective owners. I own the fanfics that I cook up from time to time.

Whipped with Whips

_Darkness strikes_  
_once again_  
_I’m all alone_  
_it feels like the end_

_He walks with me_  
_while I sleep_  
_It’s like a heart attack_  
_on a one way street_

_I can’t sleep tonight_  
_‘cause I gotta run, gotta hide_

_And I’m running, running from this nightmare_  
_I turn around, but there’s no one there_  
_And I’m running, running from this nightmare_  
_Running, running from this nightmare_  
~Tuesday Knight, **Running from This Nightmare**

Twelve-year-old Veruca Salt ran across the floor, her black Mary Jane shoes hitting the hard wood as she ran down the hallway. Walking briskly behind her, his cane hitting the hard floor with every step, was none other than Willy Wonka.

She had to run. She had to get away... from _him_. And she knew why — it was because he loved the chase, and he loved it when they ran.

_Is this how the other victims of those kidnappers I would often read about felt whenever they tried to escape them — and failed?_

The question rang in her mind as she kept running. However, she stopped when she saw it.

A pair of red double doors. She knew that they were locked. She didn’t know how she knew; she just knew.

Veruca felt so... dirty. So unclean. She felt as though she had been violated.

But that wasn’t the scary part.

The scary part was... she had been ordered to keep it a secret.

And the “it” part...

Veruca tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry like the Sahara Desert. Then he walked up, and his shadow covered her.

“My dear little Veruca,” she heard him say in a mocking parody of concern, “you always have to run from me.”

He then bent down so that he was level with her eyes. Then his purple-gloved left hand reached up and grabbed her chin. The action forced her to look at him directly.

Then he said, “You really should be more careful, little girl. After all, I thought I could... _whip_ you into being disciplined into being the perfect chocolatier, and learning about, of all the things there are in the world... **pleasure**.”

As she heard the words “whip” and “pleasure”, she shuddered. Then, she remembered everything that had happened...

***Flashback***

_Veruca was holding onto a silver metal bar. She was naked down to the waist, and her ankles were tied together with brown rope._

_She bit her lower lip, struggling to keep under control a whirlwind of emotions that had surfaced in her mind just then. But, most importantly, she was doing her best not to scream. She felt it would provoke him._

_As she tried to tighten her grip on the silver metal bar hanging over her head, Veruca kept her eyes shut tight. She felt sure that she could see, in her mind’s eye, the crimson life force creeping out of the wounds in her back and running down it like a crimson-red river of some kind._

_As she felt the pink whips lashing her back again and again, Veruca shuddered. She then tried to keep her mind off the lashings she was receiving by imagining something else._

_**Being in her bedroom at home in Buckinghamshire... painting a picture on a piece of white paper with a variety of colors, especially brown, pink and purple... eating vanilla ice cream with a few rivers of chocolate syrup flowing down it from a bowl...** _

_“Little girl.”_

_It was **his** voice. It was like velvet. Simply seductive, inspiring and very acutely articulate. Sensuous, sharp, tempting._

_She heard his cowboylike boots tapping the floor as he walked over to her, and cringed upon feeling his gloved fingers stroking her naked, bloody back._

_“Don’t touch me,” Veruca whispered. She was still feeling the effects of the lashings. “Please, take your hands off me.”_

_“I don’t think so,” replied Mr. Wonka, and then added, “Little Miss Temptress.”_

_That word — well, the phrase, actually — instantly started a fire in both Veruca’s mind and in her soul. Before she could ask what he meant, or before she knew what was happening or about to transpire, she then found herself lying on a bed with red silk sheets and black pillows — face down, to be precise._

_But before she could try to turn herself around so that she was face up and lying on the bed, Veruca then felt his fingers stroking the naked skin of her back, thus stopping her progress..._

Veruca blinked as the memories suddenly came back to her. They were images, sharp and clear as shards of glass on a wooden floor, or a clean, flowing river.

She looked up, and her eyes widened as the realization of where she was now came to her. It was the “Whipped Cream” room — the very same room that she had seen that fateful February day when she was on the boat ride along with the others.

“Little girl, always remember... whipped cream isn’t what it is unless it’s been whipped with whips.”

Veruca’s screams rang through the room, but no one heard her, as Mr. Wonka had made the rooms soundproof.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you like this as much as I did writing it. After all, the 2005 film version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is a great source of inspiration for a writer like myself. That's saying something, since almost anything I like or see on my laptop (or watch on my Windows Media Player) is a source of ideas I need for new fanfics.
> 
> Nice feedback is just what I need to write more fanfics. :)


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